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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29608314">Eye of Kyphon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/riahk/pseuds/riahk'>riahk</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Dreams, Gen, Pre-Canon, Swordfighting, Worldbuilding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 03:14:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,568</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29608314</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/riahk/pseuds/riahk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“What’s so funny?” he asks, guided again by the thread of the dream. The question resounds twice in his mind, like two intents have converged: that of Felix and of not-quite-Felix.</p>
  <p>Slowly the wave of chuckles subsides, retreating back to the sea of blue in the familiar man’s gaze. “Nothing you need to take such offense at, Kyphon.”</p>
  <p>The address shoots through him like an arrow, rings true as a bell. In a flash the scene dissolves, pulling Felix through gray haze and jolting him awake. His eyes open to the wall of his room, bare but for a decorative broadsword mounted to the stone. He shivers, rolls prone and cranes his neck back so the crown of his head nearly juts into the pillow. “Kyphon…” he mumbles. “So the other one must be Loog.”</p>
</blockquote>A canon-compliant AU where Felix's major crest allows him to see the past lives of previous major crest-bearers. Follows him from childhood through to the academy, exploring how these visions affect his mental and emotional state, and influence his views on society and morality. Also: lore for Loog's Rebellion and the War of Heroes!
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd &amp; Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius &amp; Glenn Fraldarius, Kyphon &amp; Loog (Fire Emblem)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Eye of Kyphon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello Felix fans! 👋 Back in November I was seized with sudden musings about major crests and the subtler effects of crests outside the context of battle — a Hanneman moment, if you will. The concept of crests bestowing extraneous 'quirks' is hinted at in canon (see Catherine's support with Lysithea), but only just. I wanted to explore the idea further, and Felix happens to be both one of my favorite characters and a major crest bearer!</p><p>I've been chipping away at this story for months now, and I'm so excited to finally have something to post. A lot of world-building went into writing it, mainly for Loog's Rebellion, which I may or may not have composed an entire detailed timeline for. It's also been a joy writing Felix, exploring his characterization and the events that shaped him into the person we see in-game.</p><p>Without further ado, here's the first installment of 'Eye of Kyphon'!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“There is a rumour among the great families: when the blood is blessed with a major crest, its bearer is particularly acquainted with the spirit of the goddess. Some call it a grace, others a curse. All say it comes with power. Its true nature is debated, and each story tells of a different boon. At times it's longevity — in the range of hundreds of added years, though no one has ever found the proof to support this. At times it is an ability to speak to the dead, or a similar sixth sense. No matter the tale, children of major crests have been known to lead extraordinary lives.”</em>
</p><p>— Excerpt from <em>Great Crestological Mysteries</em> by Hanneman von Essar</p><p>—</p><p>The first time Felix has the dreams is shortly after his eleventh birthday, when Ingrid lends him her copy of <em>Sword of Kyphon</em>. Its pages are yellowed and the binding is on the verge of unraveling, but she holds the book ceremonially, lovingly in both hands as its head pokes into his chest. As much as Felix wants to spend the afternoon practicing his sword swings, he carves out time to see what all the fuss is about. Kyphon is supposed to be related to him, anyway — bearing a major crest like his own, based on the family records.</p><p>He’s young and reads slowly, but the story is action-packed enough to hold his attention; Kyphon’s captivating adventure follows him from the training ground to the dinner table and beyond. Felix’s eyelids grow droopy as he struggles to finish a chapter in the flickering light of his bedroom. Sleep inevitably takes his small body, and when he awakens he is not himself.</p><p>At first it’s like any other dream, surreal and paradoxical in its ability to feel both true and false at once. But the seamless realm of slumber grows sharper and clearer, overwhelming the blurry, unfocused surroundings. Felix feels too at home in this dream body, one far older and more mature than his current self. As this man Felix rides atop a dark stallion, adorned in mythril armor and wielding a great blade engraved with the crest of his family. His long hair snakes like a whip through the wind.</p><p>Fhirdiad grows closer on the horizon, smaller than he remembers it. Another lone warrior emerges to meet him, hooves reverberating over the bare earth of the Tailtean Plains. An azure banner rises above, adorned with the jagged slashes of Blaiddyd’s sigil. “Dimitri?” Felix asks, but his words are not spoken through the mouth of his dream avatar. His voice, like the pounding of the Blaiddyd rider's steed, instead echoes bodiless through the clouds.</p><p>“Hail, brother in arms," a silky, confident voice meets his ears as the other man reaches him. With clear pools of sky-hued eyes and hair the color of sunlight, Felix nearly mistakes him for the prince, again, or even the king. But this man, though valiant, and sporting the signature features of Faerghus royalty, has a distinct humbleness about him.</p><p>Felix replies without thinking, this time feeling his lips and tongue at work. The sensation is jarring enough that he doesn't catch the exact words, focusing instead on the crisp air and the sway of his body aloft. A warmth blooms in his chest as his eyes hold true to the other man’s. Whatever he’s just said has stirred thick laughter. “What’s so funny?” he asks, guided again by the thread of the dream. The question resounds twice in his mind, like two intents have converged: that of Felix and of not-quite-Felix.</p><p>Slowly the wave of chuckles subsides, retreating back to the sea of blue in the familiar man’s gaze. “Nothing you need to take such offense at, Kyphon.”</p><p>The address shoots through him like an arrow, rings true as a bell. In a flash the scene dissolves, pulling Felix through gray haze and jolting him awake. His eyes open to the wall of his room, bare but for a decorative broadsword mounted to the stone. He shivers, rolls prone and cranes his neck back so the crown of his head nearly juts into the pillow. “Kyphon…” he mumbles. “So the other one must be Loog.” It is a scene from the early pages of his book, years before the rebellion begins. One of little importance, save for introducing its two heroes.</p><p>He whines sleepily; the tale must have invaded his thoughts more than he realized, if its pages are now seeping into his slumber. Does this happen to Ingrid, too, considering she’s re-read it enough times to commit the verses to memory? Felix only wonders about it for the short length of time it takes him to fall back into a visionless sleep.</p><p>—</p><p>What he chalks up to an overactive imagination soon proves an understatement. As he makes his way steadily through the story, scenes from the day’s reading inevitably play out in his head once night falls. Always he sees through the eyes of Kyphon: whether it be a sparring session with Loog, the cheerful son of Faerghus’ governor, or an argument with emissaries from Enbarr, he plays the part of his cool-headed, goddess-blessed ancestor. They are alike in many ways; Felix has caught glimpses of his face in dream mirrors, imagines his own living body stretched and pulled into the shape of a full-grown man. In dreams and reality both, his hands tingle with longing for the hilt of his blade.</p><p>The dreams are not always so exciting. Sometimes they are nothing but short, mundane snippets (often sneaking in during short afternoon naps) of Kyphon eating a meal, polishing his blade, or sitting beneath the shade of a tree in the courtyard. Understandably, such vignettes are not drawn from the story, but Felix does not pick up on the strangeness of this immediately. He barely wants to acknowledge his visions, not even privately to himself, and thus any curiosity he might have in the throes of each reverie dissipates upon waking.</p><p>He certainly doesn’t bring up his sleeping obsession to anyone he knows, even though Ingrid has prodded him numerous times to ask how he’s enjoying her loan. “It’s good. I like the sword fights,” he musters once during lunch, watching as hopeful Miss Galatea smiles widely through bites of her meat pie. Glenn laughs at the exchange, and Felix can’t help but recall Loog teasing Kyphon. Teasing him. It is the first time Felix makes the connection.</p><p>Soon after, he begins to see events that he’s not yet reached in the book. It’s midsummer in Kyphon’s world, and tensions with the Adrestian overseers have reached a head. Loog boils with anger over a tax increase set to be imposed on Faerghus, the decree of an emperor trying desperately to recover funds lost in their failed war against Dagda. All details that Felix inherently knows now, somehow, for the sake of orienting himself in the unfolding scene. “We sent troops into battle for them, and this is how they repay us?” Loog’s clenched fist shakes against the table. “These imperial ministers take advantage of our fathers’ loyalty.”</p><p>Kyphon leans back in his seat, head tilted sideways in thought. “What would you have us do? They know the northern fields cannot sustain our people, that we rely on the bounty of Gronder. We cannot so brazenly oppose them, no matter how unjust their policies.”</p><p>Loog's hand relaxes, his eyes gleaming with an idea. "We fight back. Send a message to the emperor that Faerghus does not bow down to the fleeting whims of men who've never seen true winter," he practically growls. Felix can't tell if the unease and excitement is from him or Kyphon. "When my father was in Dagda, he spoke highly of the other northern soldiers, their sense of camaraderie. Surely they can agree that the emperor is overstepping here, and we can rally their support."</p><p>The words are inspiring, but Kyphon is still hesitant. "Yes, I heard the same. But think about what you’re saying, Loog. We may have relative autonomy, but we’re still members of the empire. To raise arms against imperial decree… you understand that’s treason, right?” His gaze sets on his friend; normally it is Loog calming Kyphon’s fire, not the other way around.</p><p>“They betray us first, by asking for more than we can reasonably give,” Loog replies slowly, calmly. But he simmers in his chair like white-hot embers. “It is not treason, Kyphon — it is rebellion.” He lets the word hang in the air, allows the gravity to sink in for both of them. This is not some spur-of-the-moment suggestion, Kyphon realizes; Loog has had it on his mind for some time. As if taking the silence for understanding, there is the sound of wood sliding against stone as Loog rises from his seat, turning to the cabinet where the maps are kept. He opens his mouth to speak again.</p><p>“Wait,” Kyphon bites, moving abruptly to stand, palms set firmly on the table. “I have not given you my support, yet,” he says, words sharp on his tongue.</p><p>A knowing smile stretches across Loog’s cheeks. “And do I have it?” he asks, resting a hand on his hip confidently. Boots clack against the floor as Kyphon strides over to meet him.</p><p>“I still think the endeavor is crazy,” he begins, chin tilted up to watch Loog as he paces around him, gaze edged and critical. “And as usual, you assume leadership is yours by right.”</p><p>“Well, it is my idea—”</p><p>“How exactly do you plan to achieve your idea, Loog?” Kyphon interrupts, again. He can practically hear the words hiding behind his friend’s persistent grin. This is why they are friends, Loog communicates silently. It is why they are both still alive: Loog lights the forge, and Kyphon tempers the steel. And this, right now, is the blade that will make or break them both. “You wish to strike as soon as possible. I simply advise more caution.”</p><p>Loog sighs, and moves to swing the cabinet open. “Caution is the empire’s weapon. Strength and speed is ours.” Spoken with all the freewheeling confidence of a Blaiddyd, Kyphon thinks. As if victory is already his. The dangerous rumble in his voice is almost enough to lure Kyphon in. Almost.</p><p>“Then demonstrate that strength to me, first,” he commands, hands resting on the hilt of his blade. “A duel will determine how we move forward. Best me, and I will follow your every word,” Kyphon breathes, capturing Loog’s full attention.</p><p>“And if I lose, we do this your way,” the other man fills in for him, shutting the door momentously. “You always know how to make things interesting, friend.” He slides smoothly past Kyphon toward the hallway. “Time is of the essence, and I assume you’re ready as ever to fight me. Meet me in the courtyard in an hour.” His footsteps echo away even as he moves out of sight, leaving Kyphon alone with his own heart pounding in his ears.</p><p>Felix wakes up.</p><p>—</p><p>A deep tension permeates the entire next morning. His newly developed habit of reading upon waking falls by the wayside, his head aching with how incredibly <em>real</em> that night’s dream felt. And Felix admits to being afraid that the book will mirror what he’s seen, that he will be met with a mystery he doesn’t have the means to solve. It’s enough that Glenn notices his younger brother’s deep-set frown at breakfast. Glenn always notices everything.</p><p>“Cheer up, Fe,” he says with a soothing pat on the crown of his head, rough fingers running through his hair with an impossible gentleness. “Prince Dimitri is arriving this afternoon, remember? You’re always inseparable when he’s around, and he’ll not want to see you looking so forlorn.” Felix blinks in realization, the past week of stories and dreams all conspiring together to make him forget the date he’d been anticipating all spring.</p><p>“Oh, right,” he manages, his voice a mix between cheer and whine. “I forgot,” he adds, dumbly, accepting the sly chuckles he gets from the older boy. He’s too distracted by the way Loog’s face materializes when he tries to picture Dimitri. Luckily he need not rely on his imagination; the bells clanging from the castle gates signal the royal party’s arrival. Unexpectedly early, and Felix laments that he has no time to run through an extra set of drills before the inevitable spar that will quickly follow. Or, as his father jokingly calls it, a Faerghus hello.</p><p>But they are boys, and close, and embraces come before blades. Felix feels the air expelled roughly from his lungs when Dimitri throws his arms around him, always surprisingly strong for his small frame. Their fathers speak in hushed tones at the edge of the room, and Glenn steals the prince away for a moment, leaving him to watch the two mirrored exchanges silently. Reuniting is always like this, him watching on the sidelines. Even though it is Felix who Dimitri will spend nearly all his waking hours with — running recklessly through the halls, disappearing into the woods, receiving countless scoldings for the previous two things — in their greetings and farewells, the younger Fraldarius feels out of place. Today, with Loog and Kyphon fresh on his mind, the sensation is all the more apparent.</p><p>And like in his dreams, a duel is set. “I’ve been focusing more and more on lance training recently,” Dimitri casually informs him, as they make their way through the winding hallways leading to the training grounds.</p><p>Felix laughs. “It must be difficult to wield a weapon taller than you are.”</p><p>Dimitri gives him an amused shrug. “I will grow into it.” It’s not a question. And it’s just as well, because Felix vividly remembers that the last time they both went at each other with swords, Dimitri’s ended up in pieces. Their spectators had looked on in awe, some with a hint of fear. Felix has never seen it as frightening, quite the opposite; he loves witnessing that raw strength, loves the prospect of redirecting it and making it work for him. Determination roils in his gut.</p><p>He loses.</p><p>His sword clatters to the ground as the point of a lance hovers at his throat, kind eyes peering into his from the other end. “Well fought,” his opponent says, stance relaxing as they move to shake hands. Felix resists the urge to immediately request a rematch, tries to run through the bout and pinpoint his missteps. Glenn will certainly give him advice later. Dimitri pulls him from his thoughts. “But training is all I do at home, these days," he starts, voice low, only for him. "Let's go down to the water and watch the boats."</p><p>"Alright," Felix agrees, scooping the training sword up from the ground. It's not a surprising suggestion; Fhirdiad is far from any sea, while Fraldarius' port is just a short ride away, an adventure in plain sight. They rush to the stables, then sneak quietly out the back gate — secrecy staged for the sake of it, because he's well aware that royal guards shadow the prince wherever he goes. One day it may even be Glenn following them.</p><p>Dark waves crash against the cliffs, imbuing the air with a briny haze that drifts through groves of oak perched atop the rock. Dimitri scrambles up the scraggly branches first, already settled in a crook by the time Felix joins him. Their legs kick through wisps of fog. Great shadows of ships glide over the shimmering water.</p><p>"If I weren't a prince," Dimitri starts, eyes on the horizon. "I think I would want to be a sailor."</p><p>Cool wind tickles the fine hairs on the back of Felix's neck. "You're just saying that because we're watching the boats," he says.</p><p>“I’m serious!” Dimitri protests. “I could sail to Derdriu, or Sreng, or even beyond the eastern straits and onward to Almyra.”</p><p>Felix watches him critically, unable to tell whether Dimitri is joking or if his words indicate a true, worrisome aversion to duty. Normally he is able to read his best friend better than that, but he finds himself playing along. “You know the sea isn’t as glamorous as the stories make it out to be, right?” He says it with confidence, but it’s not like Felix has much experience to back it up. He went on a ship with his father and brother, once, and he was seasick the entire time.</p><p>But Dimitri continues to stare dreamily at the waves. "Well, maybe I won't invite you to join my pirate crew, then," he decides. "Ingrid and Sylvain will take to the seas with me, and you can stay right here on land." He pats the branch firmly. "Where it's safe," he adds, even as it sways beneath them.</p><p>Where it's familiar and solid, Felix thinks. Where he already has enough to worry about without the added element of great storms throwing him into a swirling void, where he doesn't have to think about unfathomable monsters lurking below his shaky feet. Dimitri is oblivious to Felix's apprehension, covering an eye with his palm and turning to face him. "Seriously. Imagine me with an eye patch," he jokes. "Like the captain Loog meets in <em>The Sirens of Sreng</em>."</p><p>"Of course you're thinking about Loog again," Felix replies, rolling his eyes. Legends are the lifeblood of Faerghus, of the knights, so he doesn't blame his friends and family for the fixation. Instead he ponders the even greater news kept all to himself: his bizarre dreams, a living, breathing myth. He considers telling Dimitri about what he sees when he sleeps, what Loog is actually like — courageous, determined, and stubborn are all descriptors that sail through his mind — but something stops him. Maybe the fact that he's just realized he believes his visions are the truth, and he cannot fathom why he knows it.</p><p>Instead, they keep watching the boats, and Dimitri gives more updates on his life in the capital. Then they go home before anybody begins to miss them.</p><p>His dream that evening picks up right where he left off. The air is heavy with Fhirdiad humidity, and a great duel between soon-to-be rebels looms. Kyphon and Loog have no clue just how momentous this occasion is, that their defiance will soon bloom into full-blown war. But the look on Loog's face is solemn, so perhaps he has some idea. Or maybe it is just Felix coloring the memory. The dream, he mentally corrects, catching himself — he's not ready to accept anything more, not yet. For now, he just wants to see who wins.</p><p>It's not the first time Felix has 'fought' as Kyphon, if one could call it that. He can feel the grip of the sword in his hand, the precise positioning of his feet crunching against the dirt. But Kyphon directs the action, the swing of his arm and his quick, quiet steps. Felix's sword training is advanced enough that he can follow most of Kyphon's tactics, as though he is receiving an impossibly immersive lesson.</p><p>A strange phenomenon — stranger even than the dreams themselves — occurs when Kyphon sets eyes on his opponent. The vision becomes crisper, teetering dangerously close to the edge of reality. Technically speaking, it is Felix acting as a second soul within Kyphon, spectating. But in the heat of battle, a frenetic tangle of motion, the lines blur; Felix forgets that it is not him clashing with Loog. In these moments, he imagines he is channeling Kyphon; or even that he <em>is</em> Kyphon, and vice versa. It's an adrenaline-inducing synergy Felix cannot explain; and this being a dream, he feels no pressure to.</p><p>The unfolding duel is the most exhilarating he's experienced by far. Loog moves first, opens with a smooth sweep of his lance that Kyphon dodges gracefully. More a taunt than a true attack, probing the swordsman in an attempt to draw out a desired reaction, to make Kyphon move in Loog's favor. It's a bold strategy, and he has the strength to back it up. Kyphon dances around each swing, each lunge, refusing to fall into the other man's rhythm. When he finally launches an attack the blade is impossibly quick, arm shooting like a viper as the rest of his body follows, maneuvering just out of Loog's reach.</p><p>Both men are evenly matched, and Felix loses track of how long the fight goes on for, how many strikes cycle into parries and then counter-parries. Kyphon and Loog know each other too well; attacks that would outwit most men come off as familiar and predictable. He imagines victory will come down to simple endurance or, more frustratingly, luck.</p><p>Then, in an instant, Kyphon changes. He's slowed down, circling Loog cautiously from a distance with his sword held in a defensive position. He is thinking, resetting. On the battlefield there would be no allowance for such pause, and Kyphon knows he will not get another chance in this fight either. Loog's curiosity will only pique once.</p><p>He exhales sharply and lunges forward quick as lightning, blade slicing tight circles through the air. Loog spins his glaive to meet Kyphon's flurry of strikes, eyes wide with the first glimmer of surprise since their duel began. After enough beats, his grip finally stumbles; Kyphon finds his opening. Felix, barely able to process what is happening, tensely anticipates a victory.</p><p>But it does not come. At the last possible moment Loog recovers and directs the tip of his weapon into the forte of Kyphon's blade, placing pressure against the guard and locking them into a bind. It is the exact place Kyphon does not want to be, so close to Loog and his inhuman strength. For all his speed, there is no way he can move fast enough to avoid what happens next: the equilibrium of force giving way to Loog's lance, Kyphon's sword wrested from his hands in a beautiful spin through the air, and his now-empty hands searching for moves as the clatter rings through the courtyard. A familiar clatter.</p><p>Everything happens quickly after that: Kyphon conceding, Loog smiling, both of them bowing to each other. And, of course, Kyphon dropping from his bow into a kneel, ignoring Loog's baffled gaze as he swears to follow the other man, per their agreement. Felix knows this part of the legend, so etched into his family's own storytelling it is. He's seen this first fealty echoed twofold only the day before in the great hall. So when it happens again in front of him, the blindingly real memory fades out and Felix dreams no more.</p><p>—</p><p>At breakfast, Felix marches up to Dimitri before he sits down to eat. “I want a rematch,” he demands, and the other boy stares dumb-founded as he chews, swallows, and agrees with a casual shrug. As Felix settles in front of his plate, he catches an amused grin from Dimitri, one that is mirrored by Glenn across the table and inverted by his own frown. Then his focus settles on the meal, on his restless hands spinning utensils like sword handles, trying to keep Kyphon’s movements fresh in his muscle memory.</p><p>When they meet in the training grounds again, he almost believes Dimitri is humoring him, that he will not put his all into the bout — but he is wrong. As soon as Glenn signals them to begin, Dimitri’s gentle eyes turn serious as ever, making the first attack quickly and confidently. Just like Loog, Felix thinks with a smirk. Except the young prince does not have the same experience as his ancestor; nor does he have the same knowledge that Felix now has, courtesy of his own legendary counterpart. He does not know Felix as well as Loog knows Kyphon, and he certainly does not anticipate what Felix is about to do.</p><p><em>Give me strength</em>, Felix pleads silently, involuntarily, an attempt to channel his dream self into reality. When his feet move and his arm swings, there is that familiar blur, a rush as he loses track of who’s in control. Is he merely mimicking what he remembers in the dream, or is this Kyphon channeling through his blood, through his fingers and his blade? Felix isn’t sure; all he knows is he loves it, even more than he did when he was asleep. An addictive euphoria chills his lungs and numbs his skin as he draws loops with his sword, gathering momentum with each swing.</p><p>Dimitri meets his eyes with satisfying surprise, but that does not mean Felix’s victory is easy. He is still himself, after all, small and inexperienced and trying his best. This time, at least, it is enough. Whether it is shock or skill that defeats his friend is unclear, but Felix takes what he can get. When Dimitri’s lance falls and Felix’s weapon threatens his exposed neck, he holds for a second longer than necessary. His eyes burn ferociously, a fire he cannot quite stop, until Glenn’s clapping snaps him out of the trance. “Excellently done,” he calls, and Dimitri’s eyes light up as he turns to the other boy, seemingly forgetting that there’s still a sword pointed at him.</p><p>Felix drops his arm, annoyed in spite of his win. “Thank you,” he mumbles anyway, unable to deny how much fun he had. How much adrenaline is still pumping through his veins, how much his hand is still twitching.</p><p>“No, thank <em>you</em>,” Dimitri replies, facing Felix again. “That was a good fight. Did Glenn teach you that form?”</p><p>Felix’s breath catches, unsure how to answer. “No,” he says, carefully, pondering the familiarity in Dimitri’s voice. “You… recognize it?” His gaze flicks to Glenn, who is watching him mischievously from the edge of the yard, then back to his friend.</p><p>The prince nods. “Yes, though I’ve not had much practice countering it. Hence why you won — well, part of why you won, at least,” he adds with a bright laugh. “They call it Kyphon’s Whip, after the man who perfected it.” Felix must look distraught, because concern pools in Dimitri’s blue eyes. “Did you not know that?”</p><p>“Of course I know it,” Felix snaps, his shoulders tensing. “I just forgot the name,” he lies, softening again.</p><p>“Regardless, you have an excellent grasp of it,” Dimitri says, bending down to retrieve his lance. “You were like a completely different person,” he adds as he rises back up, patting Felix’s arm. Then, embarrassed: “I mean, not that you aren’t <em>normally</em> so skilled at bladework…” he trails off, the excitement from their sparring match wearing off. He is turning timid again.</p><p>Glenn strides over from where he’s been coolly observing, clapping a hand playfully on his brother’s back. “That’s the power of a major crest for you,” he says, and Felix’s ears burn at the statement; he tries not to think of his crest if he can help it. He still doesn’t understand what’s so special about them, or why people care. “Whether he likes it or not, Felix is destined to be an exemplary fighter.”</p><p>They both look at him, and Felix’s cheeks catch fire too. “I would say he definitely likes it,” Dimitri jokes, fiddling with the lance balancing across his fingers. “But don’t chalk it up solely to his crest,” he continues, much to the other boys’ surprise. “You’re always telling me how much effort he puts into his drills and training. We should never overlook the value of hard work and discipline,” he says, sounding like a quote from one of the books their fathers make them read.</p><p>It’s frustrating, the way they are talking like he isn’t there, but he appreciates Dimitri’s sentiment. “Yes, he loves swinging a sword,” Glenn confirms. “Perhaps more than our father would like. Duke Fraldarius would prefer it if his son focused a bit more on his other studies, I think.” Felix opens his mouth to argue, but Glenn is too fast. “You should have seen the marks on his last math assessment,” he adds with a snicker. Now Dimitri is looking at Felix sympathetically again, and the latter is not having any of it. He begins to storm off, Glenn’s laughter still echoing behind him, and Dimitri’s rushed footsteps following.</p><p>“Felix, wait!” he calls, grabbing his arm — firmly, but not too tightly, which is surprising for Dimitri. Felix stops, breathes, and pivots around. Glenn is in the same spot, looking away guiltily, but when his brother paces back over the dirt he manages to meet his eye.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Fe,” he says with sincerity. Felix keeps walking silently, watching Glenn with warm eyes, stopping only when they are inches apart. “Hey, say something, would you?” Glenn mutters, avoiding the younger boy’s penetrating gaze. “You’re weirding me out.” He runs a hand through his wavy hair with a sigh. “Fine. I promise not to tease you about your exam scores anymore, alright?”</p><p>At that Felix smiles in agreement, finally giving Glenn some space. He turns back to Dimitri, who is blushing like he’s seen something he shouldn’t have. Felix’s smile fades to boredom. "After all that, I think I could eat again," he says. Unfazed by Felix's drab tone, Dimitri beams in agreement.</p><p>They make their way to the kitchens; their next formal meal is not for another hour, but the cooks have a known weakness for young, hungry children. "That really was an amazing session," Dimitri compliments him. "Hopefully I'll get to see you beat Glenn someday, too."</p><p>Felix turns back to peek at the older boy, who's opted to stay at the training grounds. It will take more than a technique picked up in a dream to defeat his brother, he knows, but he's never felt more confident. "I'll make it my next goal, then," he decides. "But to bring it to fruition, I'll need you to keep sparring with me."</p><p>"That's a given," Dimitri assures him. "What else are we going to do around here, anyway?"</p><p>—</p><p>When Felix returns to his room that night, still brimming with energy from his duel and an afternoon spent with Dimitri, <em>Sword of Kyphon</em> is waiting for him. With his hands still trembling and his mind wide awake, he's able to read through a large chunk of the story, to make up for the time he's been avoiding its pages. As he continues the saga he is reminded of why he stopped in the first place: the words written nearly echo what he's seen in his sleep. The recorded tale is an imperfect copy, which actually makes him more nervous as he checks his visions against the retelling, reaching desperately to explain the vivid discrepancies presented in dreams. If they matched, he could at least consider that he'd been told these legends when he was much younger, that they'd been living secretly in the corners of his mind, waiting to re-emerge.</p><p>He notes that the book tells the story of Kyphon and Loog's duel differently, not fully representing the argument between the two. Book Kyphon is much less nuanced and human than the one living in his head, his loyalty to Loog more unwavering. Perhaps that's just as well, with Faerghus storytelling being what it is, but it irks Felix all the same. He lets that irritation rock him to sleep.</p><p>Entering the dream world is usually a slow, eased process, akin to its inverse of waking. Tonight it is sudden, and punctuated by a strong stench overwhelming his senses, metallic and heavy and nauseating. It takes him a moment to realize he is smelling blood.</p><p>Felix has seen blood before. His own, of course, or sometimes his friends': injuries from play, the stray cut from a fall or a training exercise. He knows the sight and the scent; technically even the taste, from dislodging his wriggling baby teeth impatiently with his tongue and catching a strangely satisfying hint of salt and iron.</p><p>But he has never experienced it like this, in such copious amounts, as a direct consequence of war. Which is where Felix finds himself tonight: on the battlefield, thrown abruptly into a swirl of soldiers and bodies slashed apart. Kyphon's sword arm is steadily at work fighting through the horde, making his way through a crowd of opponents that appears endless. He cuts a man's arm clean off, as smoothly as one might halve an apple, allowing the momentum of the attack to carry him gracefully forward. But the smooth slice, the elegant and controlled maneuvering of his weapon is where any grace or beauty of the situation ends.</p><p>Because in the wake of Kyphon's destructive charge there is only the gruesome image of pained faces and hacked limbs, messily broken bones poking jarringly through muscle and the smell of recently dead flesh. Blood follows him everywhere. It sits in his mouth, thick and dark like he has been sprinting for miles, his chest tight and heaving.</p><p>Then the context trickles in, bit by bit: they are fighting the empire, a fact confirmed visually by the dark armor and red and gold heraldry of their opponents. The rebellion has begun. Loog has rallied the northern houses behind his cause, the peer-appointed commander of the unified Faerghus army. Except that it is not quite unified yet, still young and scrambling to assemble. And already it has been betrayed.</p><p>In his haste, Loog was sloppy and reckless, lacking the very same caution Kyphon had called for. He was too trusting, had too much faith in his potential allies. One of the southern houses, no doubt weighing the boons and banes of its respective options, chose Adrestia, and informed the emperor of the budding insurgence. That break of trust has brought Loog and Kyphon here, to the natural consequence of their overconfidence: ambushed in the foggy woods and uncertain terrain of Magdred, outnumbered and losing their foothold in the war before it has even started.</p><p>Kyphon reaches a break in the ranks, a brief pause in the action. His body still shakes and his eyes scan the field frantically, looking for blue flags. Looking for Loog. A single squire rides over the peak of a nearby hill, hailing his general with a decorum Kyphon has no patience for. "Where's Loog?" he bites out. "We were supposed to rendezvous at this point, to orchestrate the retreat." The word hurts him to say, cuts the roof of his mouth as it shoves through. But it is a necessary pain.</p><p>His question is met with an uneasy frown that makes Kyphon's stomach turn. "General Fraldarius, sir," the squire begins, more formalities delaying his point. "Bad news." Yes, because at this point Kyphon was expecting a bright announcement, he thinks sardonically. "Commander Blaiddydd… he's been captured, sir. He won't be joining us."</p><p>The chill that arrests his body is haunting, sudden, even on top of all the physical exhaustion. His muscles freeze and turn numb; the spit stirring around in his mouth dries and dissipates as he processes the facts. "No," he mutters, unable to resist reactive denial. "That can't be right." Loog may have dug himself into this hole, placing them at disadvantage; but he is still Loog, the strongest man Kyphon knows, a skilled fighter and an uncontrollable force. He can't imagine how someone could trap that lightning in a bottle.</p><p>Still, the silence pooling between Kyphon and his grim messenger is absolute, leaving no room for doubt. Kyphon has to accept it and move on. "And he's alive? They did not kill him?" More questions that grind like sandpaper over his tongue as he utters them. The squire nods, and Kyphon wonders about the empire's policy on mercy.</p><p>"That was the report relayed to me," he confirms. "We believe– we have to assume they intend to utilize his position for leverage." A bargaining chip, of course. But knowing his friend is alive at least sparks a brief joy and relief in Kyphon's heart. It blooms into hope and an idea he cannot shake.</p><p>He steps forward. "They can't have taken him far. He must still be on the battlefield," Kyphon posits. "We can find and recover him." They <em>have</em> to find and recover him. There's no other option, he screams silently, even as the logical part of his brain kicks in and denies him.</p><p>The other man denies him, too. "That's– I don't mean to question your authority, sir," he stutters. "But that's not advised. We've already lost too many men, and we've been pushed too far back. There's not enough of us left to break through their lines. We barely have enough numbers to make a last stand," he says, with an eloquence demonstrating impressive tactical knowledge. Kyphon's own strategic sense is too comprehensive to refute him. "That's my opinion. The decision is up to you, of course," he adds. With Loog incapacitated, Kyphon is the de-facto commander of what little remains of their troops. His subordinate looks at him with bright eyes that betray his youth. "Your orders, sir?"</p><p>Before Kyphon can respond, a horn blares, signaling an enemy advance. More of their men have joined them, now, fearful and tired and looking pleadingly to Kyphon for guidance. "The imperial troops are just behind, sir," one of them says. "Please, we have to retreat." Kyphon scans the growing crowd and sprints to the top of the hill to get a better vantage point. Indeed, a sea of ebony and crimson approaches, one battalion pulling ahead of the main force, no doubt bent on pursuit. Kyphon's blood boils with anger, imagining Loog out there somewhere. His men are at his side, asking again for orders as he grips the hilt of his sword, eyes burning into the frontline.</p><p>"Begin your retreat," he finally advises, turning to the growing crowd. "I'll catch up," he adds, positioning his body again toward the imperial army.</p><p>A hand falls to his shoulder, the squire who so aptly pushed for this command. "General– Commander Fraldarius, what about you? We can't—"</p><p>"I said I'll catch up," Kyphon snaps back, knuckles turning white on his blade's handle. The mists snaking around their bodies are beginning to cloud his mind, too, as a rage bubbles to the surface of his skin and takes hold of his faculties. He has only one target now, one singular goal: to make them pay. To fight until he can't anymore. He can do it; he has his major crest and the Aegis Shield his father so kindly passed to him. The other men nod and accept his decision, and as they make off to flee Kyphon charges headfirst into the nearing fray.</p><p>And oh, if Kyphon's bladework was elegant before it is damned beautiful and breathtaking now. He inhales defiance and channels it into his sword arm, his feet moving swiftly in spite of the fatigue plaguing his muscles. But for all the emotion and loyalty — to Loog, to his country and his cause — fueling him, Kyphon's lone battle is neither valiant nor honorable. After all, there is no reason for him to be cutting down imperial soldiers at this point; he does it solely to sate his bloodlust, perpetrating violence in the name of vengeance. The empire may have shown mercy in sparing Loog, but Kyphon will give them none back.</p><p>He flies monstrously across the field, leaving more mangled corpses in his wake as his movements become more erratic and dangerous. Fluid swings grow more and more abrupt, efficient, and he is set only on dispatching as many men in as little time as possible. But even his superhuman advantages have their limits, and when his armor is soaked through with the stain of blood and entrails Kyphon begins to tire. Only then does reality sink in. He puts the last of his stamina into his inhuman speed, fleeing the fray as it begins to fill endlessly with imperial soldiers.</p><p>Haze envelops the trees and obscures his vision, though Kyphon is not sure how much of it is real and how much is a product of his fatigue, a consequence of his indiscriminate fury. Once he is a safe enough distance from his pursuers he takes a moment to lean against the trunk of an oak, focusing on the roughness of bark on his hands to anchor him. His thoughts take him elsewhere, through a grim awareness of what he has done. That he is a fugitive in the eyes of the empire, that his best friend will face unimaginable punishment for treason. And that he has just killed whole slews of men for it, like it was nothing. He is afraid of the empire’s further retaliation, of the future of his homeland now that it has lashed out against its oppressors. But mostly he is afraid of himself.</p><p>Felix is afraid too, afraid and barely aware of his own consciousness, so embroiled is he in this raw moment from Kyphon’s life. Before he knows it he is awake again, eyes fixed on the dark void of his ceiling for what feels like an eternity as he stews in the sensations — pain, and the overwhelming burden of death — still sending his body into fits. There is a euphoria, too, that frightens him even more than the dread: the realization that he found joy in the way Kyphon moved, that he revelled in the satisfaction of cutting down his enemies. The same unbridled joy he felt during his second duel with Dimitri.</p><p>Respite is difficult to find again after that, and so Felix lights the candlestick kept by his bedside and sets his eyes on the pages of <em>Sword of Kyphon</em>, bent on knowing how this nightmare could possibly be described.</p><p>What he finds does not comfort him, though considering what he’s read so far he shouldn’t be surprised. The story recounts battles, yes, but never in the grotesque, violating way he has just experienced it. Its author has only positive, borderline-reverent words to describe Loog and Kyphon’s campaign against Adrestia, nothing but praise for their violent methods. After all, where would Faerghus be today, had these two heroes not leveraged their goddess-granted gifts against such villains?</p><p>And Felix has always known that the kingdom he calls home was born of conflict, but it is not until tonight that he realizes precisely what that means. Always, he has been told to sharpen his sword and to fight, but seeing Kyphon unleash his unneeded and unhinged retribution, simply because he could — because he could not still his grief — is more than Felix can stand. His hands shake with the lingering indignation of his ancestor as he struggles to turn the page, and all he is met with is Kyphon’s devotion to Loog painted as the highest ideal of a knight.</p><p>‘Glorification’ is the word he is looking for, but does not yet know. That is the concept he loathes. Most of all, he does not want to dream anymore.</p><p>He continues to read as his breath steadies and his body stills; out of the corner of his eye he spies the first faded light of dawn creeping through the window, and he resolves not to sleep. That way he will not have to see anything he does not wish to.</p><p>The sun rises, and Felix reads. When he grows bored of that, he leaves his bed and gets dressed, slipping silently out the door and wandering alone through the castle halls, slowly awakening with the subtle sounds of early morning. His feet take him, inevitably, to the training grounds. The place where, even after all he has seen, he is happiest to be.</p><p>
  <em>What else are we going to do around here, anyway?</em>
</p><p>He picks up a sword and swings.</p><p>—</p><p>Over the course of the next week, Felix does not rest if he can help it. In the evening he either sits still in his room or paces the small space in front of his bed, lying down on the cool stone to keep himself from getting too comfortable. On occasion he reads more of <em>Sword of Kyphon</em>; he can barely bring himself to enjoy the tale anymore, but Felix doesn't like leaving things unfinished. The words on the page flow aimlessly through him like water through a sieve; his eyes pass over each sentence with robotic indifference like he is clawing his way through a dark tunnel, focused only on the dim light promising an eventual end.</p><p>Dimitri's remaining stay is brief, and Felix barely perceives the rest of their time together. He is too busy depriving himself of sleep, stubbornly filling his brain with fog and dragging his heavy limbs through the halls. He turns it into a training of sorts, a test of his willpower, of how much he can push his limits. Years from now, when he is half-dead in an unidentified forest somewhere on the outskirts of Enbarr, Felix will remember these days and think 'Oh. This is what I was practicing for.'</p><p>Calling it anything other than an exercise in futility is the only way he manages to keep the charade up for so long, even when his other lessons falter as a result. After a streak of forty-eight sleepless hours, he is working through drills with Glenn when suddenly his brother's hand is on his shoulder. "Felix," he scolds. "Sit down. Now," he commands, giving him a nudge toward the benches. Felix can't even muster up a stubborn retort, and the next thing he knows he is awakening groggily on hard wood several hours later. An empty, dreamless sleep, he notes with a burst of relief, until he realizes that absence only makes the memory of his last vision hold stronger to his psyche.</p><p>Whether Glenn informs them, or Felix's stumbling gait and sunken eyes are clear enough indication, the house staff begins to show concern. Felix catches the worry in their faces when he passes by, manifesting as an increase in formalities and bows and curtsies. Their sympathies only embolden him to add another facet to his game, to better conceal the malaise that now clings to him like the dandelion seeds signalling summer's approach. His efforts must not be enough, because he continues to hear whispers and musings about whatever bizarre sickness has overtaken him.</p><p>He develops an ability to doze only in short bursts, to clear his mind of all thoughts that might trigger a potential dream. When he feels himself succumbing to exhaustion, a mantra bubbles wistfully to his lips: 'May my eyes see no more than this waking world.' It's nearly a prayer.</p><p><em>Sword of Kyphon</em> comes to a muted conclusion, its finale nothing more than buzzing noise in the gathering tangle of static that is Felix's adrift consciousness. Through some twist of serendipity, Ingrid arrives from Galatea the very next day. Felix finds her under the shade of an oak tree in the courtyard, her nose in yet another book. Felix dangles the worn copy she lent him over her head, standing silently until she notices.</p><p>"Oh, thank you," Ingrid says, accepting the casual offering as Felix slumps down in the shade next to her. The sun is beating down hard beyond the penumbra, but Felix barely notices the weather. His muscles ache. "How did you like it?"</p><p>Her words sound far away. "It…" he trails off, already forgetting the answer he rehearsed. "It's a fairytale," he mumbles, his body molding into the cradling shape of the tree trunk.</p><p>"I think the proper word is 'legend'," Ingrid teases, clearly not understanding Felix's poor attempt at critique.</p><p>"Whatever," he replies. "It's sugar-coating war," he elaborates.</p><p>Ingrid closes her book, rolling her eyes. "And what do <em>you</em> know about war?" she asks. "Besides what your father tells you."</p><p>"Don't act like you know any more than I do," Felix argues. He doesn't <em>want</em> to debate his point further, he wants this conversation to be over, but the last dream is replaying in his head again. And he can't tell Ingrid about any of it, but he can sure as hell be angry. "There’s not much to know, anyway. People fight and people die."</p><p>"You enjoy fighting," Ingrid points out.</p><p>Felix blinks, fixates his gaze on the soft petals of a wildflower. His voice sounds detached, displaced from his body. "I suppose I prefer it to the alternative of dying," he says, fingers tensing and relaxing. "But why make it all out to be grander than it is?" His palms feel damp — sweat, probably, but it’s not much different from the blood that was splashed over Kyphon's hands. "Why celebrate an act that shouldn't be repeated?"</p><p>"It's only a book, Felix," Ingrid replies dismissively. As if she doesn't idolize the heroes she reads about, doesn't fantasize about emulating their great deeds when she's older. Felix wants to tell her that it's not all it's chalked up to be, but then they'd both be hypocrites. The thrill of being Kyphon still hasn't left him; his flirtation with elegant blade-dancing and his addiction to strength and power betrays his opposing aversion to the violence it brings forth. "I'll just need to recommend you more stories until you find one you like," Ingrid continues determinedly.</p><p>He groans, frustrated with the polite nod Ingrid gives to no one in particular, a silent signal that she has brought this conversation to a satisfying conclusion, even if it's only for her. She's right about Felix and fighting: he wants to push her on this point now, wants her anger and fury as she tries to defend her ideals. Instead he gets wry indifference and an inability to conceptualize Felix's woes in a meaningful way. She hears, but does not listen.</p><p>And now it's his ears that shut out the noise, his eyes that shut out the light as he relaxes against the tree. Ingrid has gone back to her earlier reading, her fingers occasionally poking Felix’s arm or ruffling playfully over his hair. It's not unpleasant.</p><p>"Is he asleep?" Glenn's voice cuts through the stillness, accompanied by footsteps on the grass.</p><p>"No," Ingrid says, seeing right through Felix's quick attempt to feign unconsciousness. "Maybe soon, though."</p><p>There’s a soft thud and a weight against Felix’s other side as Glenn sits down beside him. “He finished the book," he observes, speaking to Ingrid.</p><p>"So it would seem," Ingrid says, all traces of her earlier irritation gone. "I think I'll lend him this one, next."</p><p>"<em>Loog and the Maiden of Wind</em>? I think I've read that one to him, a long time ago."</p><p>"He could always use a refresher," Ingrid points out with a staccato laugh that proves contagious, catching like fire in the warm air. Glenn's is deeper and thicker, almost a melody in Felix's ear. Stray sunshine filters through the wide leaves hovering protectively above their heads, and Felix notices the gentle warmth pervading the air, now. The scent of blooms and grass carries on the breeze as the conversation plays around him, wrapping him in a soothing blanket of sound and smell and sensation. It grounds him here, in the present moment, in his own skin and his own life. No one else's.</p><p>So when he drifts further and further from consciousness, there is no fear of succumbing to another vision, no need for his new mantra. He does not know if he will have this confidence tomorrow, or the day after, but at the moment he is stable. Felix finally, truly sleeps.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! And big thanks to my beta-reader and fellow Felix appreciator blackberrychai for giving this installment a read-through before I shoved it out into the world.</p><p>I don't have a set timeline for updating this story — it took me three months to write this one, so expect a similar wait for chapter 2. What I can tell you is we'll be going back to the beginning: to the War of Heroes and the first Fraldarius crest-bearer. Stay tuned!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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